


Does that make me crazy?

by sjakalen



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Dan - Freeform, Dan Howell - Freeform, Daniel Howell - Freeform, Drug Use, Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Obsession, Phan Angst, Phan Fluff, Phan Smut, Phandom - Freeform, Phanfiction, Phil - Freeform, Phil Lester - Freeform, Phillip Lester - Freeform, Sexual Content, Smut, Stalker, Stalking, Teacher-Student Relationship, obsessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sjakalen/pseuds/sjakalen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>’’You’re crazy.’’ Dan nearly whispers, voice filled with mild confusion, a bit anger and most of all fear. His eyes, however, tells an entirely different story than those of his words, - currently tells a story of lust and longing and sex. It’s always those goddamn eyes, Phil thinks. Always those mahogany eyes, that drives him into that abyss of insanity, that now has Dan shaking against the wall, Phil has him trapped against. ’’Possibly. But you’re the one who made me, aren’t you?’’ Comes the dull answer.</p><p>// In which Phil is an art teacher, who’s 'mildly' obsessed with his student Dan, who loves drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does that make me crazy?

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this, even though it took so long to finish!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this, please note that english isn't my first language, which might be the cause of any potential grammatic errors! :)
> 
> xoxo

’’What a dull definition of art, Mr. Lester.’’ An unknown voice from the back of the class states, filling the air between Phil and the other students with tension. The input isn’t mocking, that much Phil can conclude before even turning around. As a matter of fact, it sounds far more interested, maybe _playful_ even, the older one analyses, breaking the piece of white chalk between his long fingers out of sheer excitement of someone _finally_ disagreeing with him. His classes are usually dead quiet, aside from Phil’s chaotic rants about Picasso, Kahlo, Gogh and Cassatt. The students are usually either agreeing to a point where they can’t even make a comment, or simply isn’t interested in the _mad_ and absolutely beautiful world of art. He places the pieces of broken chalk on his desk, and then finally turns around to meet the face of the kid. ’’How come?’’ Is what he simply asks, deciding that the planned oil painting definitely can wait for a bit.

’’You make art sound so.. superficial.’’ Is the blunt answer Phil gets. This time Phill catches who the boy speaking is, though he does not recognize that absolutely gorgeous sculpted face, with those deep brown eyes looking him over. The boy looks to be mildly bored however, leaned comfortably back in his chair, head tilted slightly to the right side, one dark eyebrow lifted in a challenging gesture. Phil feels his muscles tense with anticipation, a _dangerous_ interest already setting roots inside him. ’’In which way, if I may ask, Mr..?’’ He asks, leaning slightly against the desk with crossed arms, showing off a pair of defined biceps underneath his shirt.

’’It’s Howell. Dan Howell.’’ The boy, Dan, starts out, taking his time to form out an answer that’ll make Phil fall in even deeper. ’’You just make it sound like art is all about a pencil and a piece of paper. It’s a rather limited point of view, I must say.’’ He sends off a crooked smile towards Phil, completely oblivious to the fire he’s starting in the artist before him’s mind. Phil gently taps his fingertips against the desk’s tabletop, thinking about all the ways he could teach Dan _art_ , without the use of a pencil or a piece of paper. He’s already in far too deep. ’’What do you classify as art then, Dan?’’ Phil continues the conversation, as if it’s just the two of them, as if they don’t get weird looks from the people around them. Luckily for Dan, they aren’t alone.

Dan definitely didn’t expect to get that question back as an answer, and he can’t help but to slightly notice the intimacy that lingers in the older’s words. He feels like a _prey_ under the heavy and invading gaze of Phil’s piercing, blue eyes, almost staring directly into the bare soul of Dan, analysing and _reading_ him like an open book. He pushes it aside though, thinking it’s just the heat of the debate playing paranoid and adrenaline infused tricks on his mind, making him imagine the _tense_ atmosphere building up between them. ’’Life, Mr. Lester. I believe life in all it’s fullness is the sheer definition of art.’’ This is where Phil stops the tapping of his fingertips against the desk, then curls his fist slightly in an attempt to substain himself. The bell rings before he gets a chance of devouring the younger one any further, and Phil feels the tension disappearing and his sanity returning a little. Dan’s eyes leaves his, and before he gets a chance to interract further, the younger one lost between the students leaving the room.

That night, Phil draws his first painting of those burning, passionate brown eyes.

That night, Dan gets high and feels Phil’s own eyes all over him again.

 

***

The next time they see eachother is two weeks later. Phil had been slowly regaining his mental health, after the weeks of no signs of his newfound obsession.  However, the moment he enters the classroom, and finds Dan yet again placed in the back of the room, ever looking so carefree and bored out of his mind, he falls head over heels down into that twisted dark hole of wrong fascination yet _again_. He shrugs his coat off and places it around the back rest of his chair, electric eyes never leaving Dan, who’s currently having a conversation with the person next to him - but Dan notices, even if Phil doesn’t know it. The younger shoots a glance towards him, one that the older definitely analyses as a sign, that Dan had been affected by their last meeting as well. That he _remembers_. And then Phil’s mouth waters internally, as he makes a note to capture that look on a canvas later. Dan knows he should be uncomfortable. The problem is that he _isn’t_ , really, even though all of the alarmsigns is ringing in his ears. Dan has never known when to stop, the word ’limit’ simply doesn’t exist in his otherwise extremely extended vocalbury. He always has a burning need inside of him, urging him to go _further_ \- also now.

The lecture starts, and Phil _needs_ to tear his eyes away, snapping back to the professional and calm teacher he usually is, leaving the absolute obsessed lunatic in the back of his mind for a little while, just a _little_. He greets the class with a goodmorning, sits down on his chair and starts lecturing them about the wonders of oil painting and Cassatt’s wonderful creations using this method. While doing so, he keeps thinking about just how _gorgeous_ a canvas based duplicant of Dan would look like in oil paint. He has always been fascinated by art, whatever definition one would have of the term. Right now _Dan_ is one of those definitions. When Phil has rambled long enough and no longer can distract himelf with Cassatt, he guides them to the atelier he has made in the backcorners of the classroom, leaving them to work on the project he got them started on last week. Last week, where Dan wasn’t here.

When he places himself just a single step behind him, he notices the way the younger boy’s shoulders tenses a bit. Phil doesn’t doubt that Dan got some of it figured out, but definitely not _all_ of it. ’’Good to have you back, Howell.’’ He states, biting down hard on his lowerlip, as Dan can’t hide a couple of shivers from him. Phil’s incredibly close, and once again Dan feels like a _prey_ under the heavy gaze of the artist, feels like Phil is a predator ready to _devour_ him whole. The worst thing is -  he _doesn’t_ mind. ’’Good to be here, Mr. Lester.’’ Phil watches the younger move his paintbrush across the before blank canvas in the shade of a light blue, around the same color as Phil’s eyes. The subject they were supposed to paint was _fear_. If Phil found it hard to substain himself before, Dan has no idea what he’s doing to him _now_.

Theres almost no room between them anymore, and Dan can feel the warmth from Phil’s body now. If Dan haven’t hallucinated his theories about Phil’s bizzare attraction to him, between being constantly high and still feeling those eyes on him, almost _missing_ those eyes on him, Phil will get the metaphor across his canvas. And when he feels a warm huff of air against his neck, Dan _knows_ he does. ’’Clever choice,’’ Phil whispers, dangerously close to Dan’s ear now. ’’ - But you don’t have to fear me.’’ Phil whispers. It takes all Dan has not to push back against Phil at that point, the only thing stopping him is them not being aone. ’’What if I want to?’’

 

That night Phil draws yet again those deep brown eyes, this time filled with an intense, erotic fear.

That night Dan is on cloud nine with his best friends morphine and pleasant paranoia.

 

***

’’Draw me.’’ Dan says one day where he’s not even supposed to be at school, and definitely not at _Phil’s_ classroom. It’s 8 o’clock, and schoolhours ended a long time ago. This means they’re no longer teacher and student, right now, they’re Dan and Phil. _Predator and prey._ This is the point of no return, Dan’s mind tells him, waiting for Phil to turn around and _ruin_ him. He doesn’t even know why he’s here, he knows he shouldn’t be, that it’s _dangerous_ and that _Phil_ is dangerous, that this _game_ is getting out of hand. Maybe it’s because he’s got ketamine and blue eyes clouding his mind, maybe it’s because he’s _also_ in far too deep. He leans against the doorframe, taking in the sight of Phil hunched over a bunch of papers. Dan thinks he looks absolutely gorgeous with glasses.

Phil feels his whole world collapsing at Dan’s words, feel shivers going down his spine as the boy practically offers himself to him and his crazy mind. Of course, the younger one doesn’t know Phil already _has_ drawn and painted him. He doesn’t know about the _countless_ drawings and paintings at Phil’s homestudio - he doesn’t need to. Phil thinks Dan looks like an absolute _ravishing_ mess, lips red and puffy, the usually straight hair curly and wet from the rain falling down outside. It doesn’t take long for him to conclude that the boy is very, very high, the animalistic yet dull look in his dark eyes giving it away. That, and the fact that Phil almost can’t seem to find the boys pupils in his mahogany ocean of _life_. He takes in a sharp breath, rising slowy from his chair and walking towards the backcorners of the classroom. He gestures for Dan to follow him in a quick, almost impatient handmotion.

’’Sit.’’ The older one says, the commanding voice making Dan bite down hard on his lips and shivers run down his spine. Phil points towards a chair, afterwards he sets a canvas up and finds the colors he will need for the portrait, hands actually _shaking_ of excitement. Dan doesn’t need instructions, he thinks he knows what Phil _wants_. As soon as he’s placed firmly on the chair, he pulls off his wet shirt, letting it fall to the floor underneath him, letting Phil _see_ him. Phil doesn’t hide his obvious staring at the sight before him, doesn’t hide his pleased, wild and _hungry_ look as he looks over the skinny and yet slightly toned boy, the picture forever imprinted in his chaotic mind, which is working full speed right at this _beautiful_ moment. It takes every bit of willpower he has, not to throw himself all over the younger boy and _claim_ him. ’’More.’’ Is what he simply says, almost _growls_ , as he begins to sketch out Dan’s form, eyes shifting from the canvas to Dan. Dan sighs, feeling the air getting thicker along with the sexual tension between them. He answers by pushing off his shoes and socks and zipping his fly halfway down, letting Phil get a clue about what this _does_ to him. When he sees Phil’s hand clutching hard around the paintbrush, Dan knows the older one _absolutely_ feels the same way.

Phil lets his hunger for more take form in the painting, lets his mind loose control with the paintbrush, gliding angrily and harsh across the canvas. He doesn’t dare to ask for more this time, as Dan’s eyes once again gives him almost what he _needs_. At this moment, Phil isn’t the only lunatic. At this moment, Phil isn’t the only one staring, longing and _living_. Right now, they’re _one_. Time is nothing right now - Phil knows he’ll get called to the principal’s office tomorrow, recive a warning for being at the school for far too long. Dan knows he’ll recive a fist to the face from his dad instead. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing fucking matters right now, aside from Dan, his eyes and his _mind_ \- nothing fucking matters, aside from Phil, his paintbrush and his whole _animalistic_ being.

He feels the fast beating of his heart against his chest, feels the thick air filling his lungs, feels Phil crawling under his tanned skin, feels his whole being serve itself to Phil. Most of all he feels the _art_ , they’re both creating in the little classroom. ’’Beautiful.’’ Phil whispers in a hoarse voice, breaking the silence that had rested between them for the last hour and a half. Dan knows the older one talks about him, and not the soulfull and almost finished portrait. Phil slows down the movements of his paintbrush, clinging onto the intimacy he shares with the younger one, not wanting to _end_ that just yet. And Dan does feel beautiful under Phil’s gaze. He feels worshipped, feels appreciated and feels _trapped._ He knows it’s too late now, knows it’s too late to back out unharmed of this game. And if he keeps looking at Dan like that, Phil might just _win_.

That night Phil doesn’t sleep, paintbrush never leaving it’s canvas.

That night Dan does, and dreams of those hands on him.

 

***

The next time they meet it’s all Dan’s fault, really. His fault for staying away for a month, his fault for leaving Phil and his sanity on a hanging hair. He’s constantly thinking about Dan, about his defined cheekbones, about the pimple that shows when he smiles, about his begging eyes and about his _body_. Phil doesn’t know why Dan just _had_ to leave for a while. He doesn’t know he’s fucking with Dan’s mind more than the drugs ever have and ever will - doesn’t know just how _easy_ he makes Dan become undone. How much he fucks with him and his psyche. No matter how much cocaine Dan had snorted and heroine he injected over the last month, he still could feel Phil’s blue eyes watching him _everywhere_ he went. Dan had woken up far too many times in the middle of the night, dreams about the older one _hunting_ him down keeping him awake. He can’t classify them as nightmares, he _can’t._ Phil isn’t angry when he spots Dan walking down some lousy street in a shady neighbourhood, which in a strange way makes the usually determined boy look so very fragile. No, he definitely isn’t angry, even though his mind is strictly devoted on not letting the younger one run away this time. Somewhere along the game, Phil realised painting Dan no longer was _enough_ , no longer enough to soothe his _craving_. He taps his fingers against the leather covering the steering wheel, letting his foot press slightly down on the speeder, catching up to Dan.

They weren’t supposed to meet again, Dan had decided the day after Phil had painted the breathtaking portrait of him. It was too dangerous, knowing if they were to do so, Phil would slowly tear Dan’s mind apart - piece by piece. It was too dangerous, knowing he would give himself and his own selfcontrol up absolutely _willingly_. But they do meet, and from the moment he once again is a frozen deer on a road and Phil’s eyes is a spotlight coming from a car racing 90 miles per hour, Dan realises he has lost the bizzare mindgame they’re playing. He’s beginning to think that’s how it’s supposed to be. ’’Need a ride?’’ Phil asks when he pulls over, slowly rolling down the car window. For a minute Dan just stares, trying to accept the fact that he can’t _escape_. Not anymore. When he gets in he buckles his car belt in silence, trying his best to calm his nerves and brush off the feeling of Phil’s eating eyes on him. ’’What a funny coincidence to meet you here, Mr. Lester.’’ Dan says, even though the small smile on Phil’s lips tells him that it _really_ isn’t one.

Dan shouldn’t have gotten inside the car, he knows that. The shivers running down his spine tells him so, the panicking voice inside head also do, and the big hand that’s suddenly on his thigh definitely does so too. ’’It took me a long time to find you.’’ Dan lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he had been holding in, Phil’s fingers clawing possessively at his thigh and at his _soul_. ’’But you did.’’ They both smile a little at that, because of _course_ Phil did. Dan knows very well by now, that he’ll never be able to escape the captivating prison, those blue and _devouring_ eyes holds. He doesn’t think he want’s to, either. They drive in silence for a bit, letting the tension there usually is between them find it’s way once again, making Dan’s heartbeat fasten and Phil’s fascination grow and grow and _grow_ , making him bite down on his lips and the grip on the steering wheel and Dan’s thigh tighten. Dan doesn’t recognize the roads they’re driving on, but he’s aware where ever they’ll lead them, it isn’t to Dan’s home. Dan can’t quite conclude if it’s something he knows, or something he _wishes_. ’’You’re not leaving again, Dan.’’ Phil states, the rather harsh voice letting Dan know he isn’t fucking around, letting Dan know that he isn’t gonna wait any longer, isn’t _able_ to. Phil lets him know that he’s at his _limits_. ’’Convince me to stay, then.’’ Truth be told, Phil doesn’t even need to. Dan’s faith was sealed the moment those analysing eyes _saw_ him for the first time. Phil catches Dan’s eyes and sends him a look, that promises he will do just that.

 

 

Dan isn’t supposed to find _that_ room, he really isn’t. But when he does, it’s because Phil is fixing them a drink in the kitchen, and Dan’s curiosity and _need_ to get inside Phil’s mind just as much, gets the best of him. A persons house can tell a lot about their being, Dan knows that better than anyone - For an example, his dealer’s house says he’s a fucking idiot, the drugs not strong enough to keep Phil’s existence out of his thoughts, not strong enough to _save_ him. Phil’s nice house has _almost_ convinced Dan that he isn’t a complete lunatic, that he isn’t going to _ruin_ him and leave him gasping and panting and _alive_. The countless full bookshelfs and beautiful paintings on his walls is making Phil seem like a laid back and somewhat _normal_ guy - Until Dan pushes an door open and reveals a room with paintings and drawings of him. At first he feels _sick_ in such a pleasant way, feels his throat tighten and pulse race. He could close the door, and pretend he’d never seen it. He could close the door, and pretend Phil wasn’t a complete _psycho_. But he doesn’t, as something about the older one’s unhealthy obsession lures him inside the selfmade atelier.

The paintings are beautiful, they really are, and even though the whole situation makes Dan’s skin _crawl_ , he just can’t help but notice the amount of detail and care put into each stroke with the paintbrush. The way Phil manages to capture his essence so absolutely breathtaking, leaves Dan with goosebumps taking form up and down his shaking arms. He makes Dan look so wild, so animalistic and yet beautiful. So absolutely _crazy._ In the middle of the room is the only portrait Dan knew about before, showing him off in such a _realistic_ and raw way. As he moves closer to study it, he takes note of just how _observative_ the older one had been that day. Everything from his moles to the small scar on his left shoulder is captured in that painting. It shouldn’t shock him, it really shouldn’t - since their first meeting, Phil had seen right _through_ him, seen him for what he _is_. The rational part of Dan’s brain tells him to run, tells him that Phil is a _dangerous_ man, tells him that he’ll _ruin_ him. The more illogical part of his brain tells him that’s what he _wants_ , tells him that there’s nothing more _honorable_ than being and artist’s musé. And while Dan does feel worshipped, he also feels metaphorically trapped. As he takes a deep breath he goes further into the room, taking in the sight of Phil’s obsession with cautious eyes. When he moves to let a thin finger slide down the side of an unfinished one, Phil stops him. ’’Don’t. The paint isn’t dry yet.’’

No, Dan was definitely not supposed to find this room, even though the lovely mix of confusion, realisation, fear and trust definitely suits the beautiful face of the younger one. Phil places the drinks he had fixed them earlier on a table and slowly approaches Dan, who desperately stumbles backwards looking for an escape, convinced by his fast heartbeat that he’ll _die_. ’’I just couldn’t stop myself, I really couldn’t.’’ The gap between them becomes smaller and smaller, with every intimidating step Phil takes. Dan is almost ready to surrender when his back hits a wall, but only _almost_. ’’You fascinate me so very much, Dan.’’ Phil words are gentle, even though his eyes are _burning_ with cruel desire, burning with such an _intense_ passion. And then Phil takes his last steps, closing the gap between them completely. For a couple of seconds, the whole world stops. ’’You’re crazy.’’ Dan nearly whispers, voice filled with mild confusion, a bit anger and most of all _fear_. His eyes, however, tells an entirely different story than those of his words, - currently tells a story of lust and longing and _sex_. It’s always those goddamn eyes, Phil thinks. Always those mahogany eyes, that drives him into that abyss of insanity, that now has Dan shaking against the wall, Phil has him trapped against. ’’Possibly. But you’re the one who made me, aren’t you?’’ Comes the dull answer.

And then Phil covers Dan’s lips with his own. It isn’t a sweet, romantic or gentle kiss, it’s raw, hard, wet and _hungry_. At first Dan struggles, hands pushing at Phil, not because he doesn’t want him, but because he’ll fall into Phil’s claws so _willingly_. Phil isn’t having none of that, isn’t able to substain himself from _finally_ hunting Dan down, and so he gets a grip of Dan’s arms, raising and capturing them above his head, holding them in place hard against the wall. They break apart shortly for air, lips red and puffy. ’’I won’t let you go.’’ Phil promises, voice deep and hoarse with lust, electric eyes pinning Dan harder against the wall, than those strong hands ever will. This time it’s Dan who covers Phil’s lips, and that’s all the older one needs to lose that _tiny_ bit of selfcontrol he had left. He pushes his tongue in, dancing a _cruel_ dance with Dan’s own, and the younger one is absolutely _lost_.

At one point Phil had released Dan’s arms, an impatient hand now finding it’s way under his shirt, the artist’s rough fingertips exploring the warm, tanned skin underneath. Dan sucks in a shaky breath, arching into the touch Phil offers, tilting his head slightly to the left as Phil’s lips find their way to his jaw, planting rough and harsh kisses against the smooth skin presented so _delicately_ to him. He creates bites that’ll definitely bruise in the morning, the purple marks set so high no shirt will be able to hide them, able to hide _him_. Phil wants Dan to feel him days later, wants him to be _unable_ to look in the mirror without seeing Phil all over his body, wants him to be unable to sit down without remembering what Phil did to him. Even when Dan closes his eyes, he still feels those stern eyes _tearing_ him apart, devouring him whole and _completely_ , setting his cells on fire and _forcing_ him into and euphoric state. He shudders, giving in to the harsh pleasure Phil has to offer, slim fingers finding their way into black hair, pulling _hard_. At some point Phil decides they’re both wearing too much clothes, and suddenly there’s a hand pulling Dan’s shirt of, tossing it to the side in a hungry and swift motion. Phil joins in, shirt ending up next to Dan’s. Phil’s mouth finds Dan’s body yet again, tongue finding rest at the younger one’s left nipple, licking, playing and _biting_ , skilled fingers working at the right one, making Dan moan out unashamed, giving into the animalistic and intimate nature _crawling_ just behind the surface. At that moment it takes _every_ bit of willpower Phil has, not to fuck Dan senseless against the wall.

He can’t breathe, Dan can’t _fucking_ breathe, the air being filled with lust and Phil and _art_. He swears his whole body is on fire, cells burning so pleasantly, yet _threatening_ inside him, as Phil’s free hand finds it way down to Dan’s pants, fingers quickly working the fly open and pushing the skinny jeans down, revealing a pair of trembling, creamy thighs and a couple of way too tight boxers. Phil almost lets out a growl, as he feels sharp nails make a patern of _passion_ down his chest and toned stomach. At that moment Phil realises he isn’t the only one _claiming_ tonight, isn’t the only one going _crazy_ anymore. They help eachother stripping down, taking their time to leave marks of violent and _raw_ affection, taking their time to _see_ eachother. Dan thinks Phil is _beautiful_ , thinks his perfect imperfections and imperfect perfections are absolutely _breathtaking_. He takes in the sight of the animal before him, lets himself get lost in the raging storm hiding beneath those lovely blue eyes.

’’Floor.’’ Phil growls inbetween some kisses, pushing Dan down and getting seated between those long, tanned legs, wrapping them around his own hips. Dan shudders as Phil’s rough fingertips spreads his thighs even further, feeling incredibly vulnerable and _powerless_ as dry and merciless fingers enters him, the pain making him gasp out, making him feel _alive._ Dan thinks Phil just might be more _addictive_ than the drugs ever were, ever will be. ’’Fuck.’’ Dan moans, as Phil stretches him out with impatient yet skilled movements. Phil bites his lips, adding another long finger as Dan loosens up a little, thrusting them all in and out of the younger one in a brutal pace, making Dan a writhing, _eager_ mess underneath him. Phil knows it’s enough, when Dan’s long nails digs into his broad shoulders, leaving marks that’ll make Phil remember just how beautiful Dan is underneath him tomorrow. They fuck, and they do it _hard_ \- pain and pleasure coliding as Phil pushes himself inside, making Dan _scream_ and Phil tremble. He lets himself egotistically get lost in the sensation of the hot tightness wrapped around his erection, lets himself lose control as he snaps his hips forwards, over and over and _over_. While pounding brutally into the younger one, he studies the boy’s body like the piece of _art_ he is, appreciating and worshipping _each_ arch and _every_ expanse of creamy skin in a rough manner, making Dan moan out symphonies of slurred, dirty words, body shaking violently as Phil’s cock brushes against his prostate, again and again and _again_. Dan knows he won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, knows his hips will be covered in purple bruises from Phil’s delightful yet harsh grip, knows he’ll _never_ find anyone who’ll make him feel like _this_ again. He’s Phil’s canvas, and Phil’s his paintbrush. Together they create _art_.

The sound of skin against skin and animalistic moans is filling the room, is filling Dan’s head with thoughts and feelings he has never experienced before, as if Phil is the drug Dan has been looking and longing for, for so _incredibly_ long. Phil really, really likes the way Dan looks filled up by him, really likes the look on Dan’s face as he _consumes_ him, tears him apart and burries his hands inside of Dan’s soul. Dan doesn’t think he has ever felt this beautiful, didn’t use to think the gaze of a mad artist could be so _haunting_ , so promising and yet delightful. Even though the wooden floor underneath him makes his skin raw and tender, the rough movements of their conjoined bodies being the cause of that, Dan can’t deny how _good_ Phil makes him feel. Every muscle in Phil’s body is tensed up, his whole being focused on bringing that brutal pleasure to Dan, focused on making the younger one _scream_ out his name as he gives in to what Phil’s skilled hands has to offer. Dan does just that, bucking his hips in time with Phil’s dominant thrusts, lips falling apart and eyes tightly shut as he becomes undone, climax washing over him in an euphoric manner. He rides out his high while Phil continues to pound into him, the tightness of Dan making him come shortly after, filling the younger one with spurts of hot semen. They catch their breath, maintaining the position. For a while they just _stare_ at eachother.

That night, they’re _crazy._

 


End file.
